


In a Dirty World

by revolutionaryresistance



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - School, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other, Racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionaryresistance/pseuds/revolutionaryresistance
Summary: There's only so much practically orphan immigrants can do in America. America isn't exactly prided on lifting up its orphaned youth, especially when they're nowhere near being their white poster boys. But even then, there's that clear split between two different situations. Because even when put into similar situations, class is still into play. Class, location of immigration, and money. Two orphan immigrant boys from different parts of the world, somehow planted right in the same spot. What should be two completely different lives, if social standing and money should be listened to, somehow intertwining in so many different ways as they hold each other up. A poor orphan from Puerto Rico alongside the filthy rich kid from France. Alexander Hamilton and Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. Both grand names, despite one being longer, and both destined for great, great things.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> so, the beginning has a little bit of peggy in it, which is really setting up for later in the story. currently, she's only a 5th grader, and i tried to write a little bit on her, but it was a little difficult, so i'm waiting until a later time to really add her in. this is definitely more of an introduction/prologue sort of chapter that i have going on here.
> 
> also, please take into consideration that this is a very large work in progress! while i do have quite a list of things solidified, things like relationships are really not top of the list on my mind when brainstorming and drafting, so that would be why the relationships tags is currently as empty as it is. and that one, will for sure, take a little while to work up to. 
> 
> for your reference (and a bit of my own), here are the more main characters the people plus grades they are in:  
> Maria: [6th grade]  
> Eliza: [6th grade]  
> Lafayette: [7th grade]  
> James: [7th grade]  
> Alex: [7th grade]  
> Hercules: [8th grade]  
> Theo: [8th grade]  
> Aaron: [8th grade]  
> Laurens: [8th grade]  
> Thomas: [9th grade]  
> Angie: [9th grade]

The amount of times Alex has moved in his life is not able to be counted on a single hand. He and his mother seemed to simply bounce from one house to another after his father left one day two years ago, but he was always in the same area, around the same small town in the Caribbean for the purpose of his education. This move, he thinks, is nothing like it.

Well, for one, all his other moves had been with his mother. This one is done alone. Alex’s entire life was uprooted when he was sent off to New York to live with a cousin after his mom’s death. After he was deemed free of illness, that is. And then, there is the fact that Alex moved from a very small village in Puerto Rico to New York City, New York, USA. There is no more going back to his previous school, where, it was nice because the teachers all knew him. He knew the students. He knew the _people_. This is new, and he doesn’t know how he feels about it.

See, the little town in the Caribbean was very magically dominated. There were, of course, a few nonmagic people, mainly spouses and those there for business, but that doesn’t change the fact that the people had magic, like him. New York City isn’t short on population, magic and magicless, but there’s that unity, Alex thinks, of being with people like you. A unity of a town under those circumstances. A unity of people with your race, language, and just… everything.

“Oh, come on Alex, help me carry up these damn boxes!” comes a shout from the living area, drawing Alex out of his thoughts on the matter. Peter Lytton, his cousin.

As he walks out of his new room, void of most things other than a bed and a dresser with a few clothes in it, Alex’s mind gets lost again, but this time on Peter. Peter is… well, Peter isn’t Alex’s mother. Alex highly doubts he’ll be receiving any gentle touches or words of comfort from his cousin. So far, Peter isn’t necessarily a bad person, but the two of them had never really met before this, and Alex’s mother isn’t exactly the loved person in the family. So Peter holds a little bit against Alex, but he hasn’t done anything bad yet.

There’s only two other boxes in the room, Alex notices as he and Peter pass, Peter with one box in hand. Two of the four that he came here with remain. Alex isn’t exactly loaded, with money or material possessions. He slowly makes his way over to the boxes and bends down to pick one up. The largest one. Peter can’t complain about him leaving it for him, this way, and the box isn’t exactly heavy in the first place.

The apartment isn’t too large, the very opposite of large, but Alex didn’t expect it to be anything spectacular. Two bedroom, one bath, a kitchen, and a small living room. Very small. But it’s nice, up on the ninth floor. Cozy. As long as Peter isn’t a complete dick, he could easily learn to call this place home.

Peter is standing still in Alex’s room when he’s setting his box down gently on the floor. “I’ll get the last box if you want to start unpacking, kid,” Peter says, startling Alex by putting a hand on his shoulder.

Alex’s eyes flicker from the hand to Peter before slowly nodding his head. “Uh, yeah, thanks,” he says awkwardly. With a small, almost pitying smile, Peter removes his hand and walks out of the room.

Unpacking. Right. This is it. This is officially the point of no return, and Alex is a little scared, but he pushes it away. Even if he wanted to leave, he couldn’t. There is nowhere for him to go. So, he crouches down to the floor and does as suggested. Unpacks. When Peter comes in with the final box and sets it down on the floor next to where Alex is, he barely notices.

He only has a month to get his shit together for the start of the school year. “I totally got this….”

 

“Eliza, where did you put my coloured pencils!?” Peggy shouts, sitting on the floor surrounded by scattered school supplies. She _needs_ for when school starts. Right at the top of the list was coloured pencils, minimum ten, which means that they’re going to be important! Nobody puts things at the top of the list if they’re not important.

There’s light footsteps coming down the hallway before Eliza stands in front of the doorway, brown curled hair a mess around her face. Peggy wouldn’t be surprised to hear if she had just woken up with the way she’s looking. “You don’t have to yell, you know,” Eliza grumbles, rubbing her eyes. “And why does it matter? You don’t even need them for another month.”

Yeah, a month. Only a month until school starts! Peggy needs them _now_ , not later. “A month, Eliza. A month!” she says excitedly, waving her arms over the items around her. “I need to get it all sorted so that I’m super prepared for school. Plus, I promised Mark that I’d let him use them when he comes over today, so I need them like, now, not later. Not even tomorrow.”

Mark. Marcus Cosway, aka Peggy’s best friend since forever. He’s a year older than Peggy, but they’re in the same grade. They’ve had the same teacher since kindergarten, always being paired up with each other in everything. Recess was a time for playing make believe and running around together. Lunch was a shared affair of only Peggy and Mark, no outsiders allowed. And, today, he’s coming over for what Peggy’s dad still called a “play date”, but Peggy is 10 years old, and Mark is 11. It isn’t a play date.

“Yeah, and it’s eight in the morning,” Eliza complains, pointing to the digital clock sitting on the nightstand next to Peggy’s bed. “Some of us don’t like to wake up this early.” Score one for Peggy for totally calling that Eliza had been asleep. “Mark isn’t coming over until at least two, so I am going back to sleep. I’ll give the stupid pencils to you when I wake up.” And with that, Eliza turns out of the room.

Peggy huffs at the retreating form of Eliza. No need for her to be mean to Peggy about it, it was an innocent enough request considering the pencil are _Peggy’s_ , not hers. Hmph, whatever. Peggy has better things to be worrying about than what Eliza is doing.

Things like figuring out what to wear today. “Hm, Mark’s com’ over, so I need somethin’ loose,” Peggy muses, carefully rising to her feet, careful to not step on anything but the floor. She moves her way around her room and to her closet, where she opens the doors with enthusiastic purpose. “This situation calls for a… a dress. I think.” Angie would know. But she’s still asleep too, probably. They all sleep in too late.

So, it’ll have to be a dress then, Peggy decides. After a moment of looking, she pulls out a light blue sun dress and holds it up against her. “Found one!” she exclaims, before carelessly throwing it on her bed to undress.

It takes her less than five minutes to get changed, and afterwards, she looks in the mirror to examine her hair. “That’s not being brushed.” Well, she doesn’t need to. Peggy takes a quick look at the brush sitting on the edge of her dresser next to her and gives it an odd look. “Why do I even have that?” Doesn’t matter. She’s ten years old, she doesn’t have a care in the world. She can just put it up anyways.

Peggy bounces, quite literally, the few feet to her dresser and grabs two hair ties before going back to the mirror. In a practised manner, she quickly puts her hair up in pigtails, each just a little above an ear in about as much of a symmetrical fashion as possible. “Good!”

And, really, it’s now eight thirty in the morning, everyone can be awake right now because Peggy is hungry and really wants some pancakes. So, in a purposefully obnoxious manner, she darts out of her room, leaving her floor a mess and her pajamas on her bed, giggling madly as she runs down the stairs for the kitchen.

Soon enough, her dad tiredly steps into the kitchen, followed by Angelica, who looks a little more awake, and a slightly pissed off Eliza.

 

Lafayette stares down at the full bowl of cereal, but doesn’t eat it, only moving the food in it around slowly, watching the way it moves in the milk. He’s not necessarily hungry. Or, maybe he is, but he just can’t tell. He sure as hell doesn’t have an appetite, whether his body wants food or not. Not like it matters.

“You need to eat, Gilbert,” George says from across the small table, giving Lafayette a concerned look. “Even if just a few bites.”

Lafayette looks up at George for a second and sighs, dropping the spoon in the bowl. He knows George means well, hell, the man took him into his and his wife’s house out of nowhere, but he really needs to lay off of his back. Not only is he almost twelve, but the concern… it has to be fake. There is no way that George really cares about trivial things like that. No need to bother with the fake concern. “J’ai pas faim,” is all he says instead.

George sighs, but doesn’t say anything in response, instead slowly standing up to leave.

No better time to bring stuff up than at the breakfast table… right? “Ah, attendez! Puis-j’aller faire de shopping, aujourd’hui? Avec Herc et sa mère.” Lafayette asks. “Elle-”

“I know we’re at home right now, but you do need to get back into the habit of English,” George says quickly, cutting Lafayette off. When the kid sends a small glare at him, however, he waves his hand, gesturing for Lafayette to continue.

“Right, so his mom is going taking him to buy school supplies and maybe some clothes. Oh, et John may come with if he can.” Lafayette tries to put on his most hopeful eyes. In general he wants to go to hang out with Hercules and John, but he really needs to get out of his damn place for a little bit too. It’s been two weeks since he’s left the top penthouse of this stupid apartment. New York City is not for just sitting around inside all day.

“You have my number, right?” George asks.

Duh. “Oui, oui, j’ai-” Lafayette pauses for a second as George raises his eyebrow. Party pooper. Lafayette has been speaking English alongside French for three years, and a full year of that was here in America, where, with the lack of French speaking people, he quickly picked up on things due to simple immersion. He doesn’t need practice. “I have your number, yes, and so does Herc’s mom.

“Well, it’s just about nine now, so you need to get ready soon if you want to go,” George says after a minute.

Lafayette breaks into a huge grin. “Oh, merci beaucoup!” he says excitedly, jumping up from his seat, ready to go running for the phone in the kitchen.

But, George, of course, has to stop him. “After you eat a few bites of your breakfast.

Lafayette sighs dramatically, but sits back down in his chair. “Fine.” Easy enough. He quickly shovels a few spoonfuls of the now soggy cereal into his mouth and eats about half the already small bowl before he has to stop, unable to eat any more. “Good?”

“Yeah, go ahead kid. Go call Hercules before it’s too late.” 

And just like the well mannered eleven year old he is, Lafayette leaves the table swiftly, leaving his bowl behind on the table in his haste.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayo! again, i'd like to make note that this peggy storyline will eventually get cut off a little bit, but it will emerge later on as time passes and they're all older! a lot of this stuff is still me getting the building blocks set up for this story, so please hang on for just a little bit longer. i do have a few chapters pre-written, and so as long as i have chapters in the bank (i will be trying my hardest to write at least one chapter for every chapter i post), they will likely be posted one chapter every monday so that i can give myself proper time to write this story, my other stories, and do my schoolwork.

_Dear diary. Journal? Not really sure what this is, only that they told me to do this. To write and stuff. Said it helps dealing with shit. Also suggested English to help me practice it as if I didn’t already know it. Which, to be fair, Puerto Rico does speak Spanish primarily, but I did learn it from my mom and in school. I’m pretty damn fluent in English. Practice my ass._

_So, anyways. Dealing. What do I have to deal with? They act like I’m not used to parents leaving me. Dad… my father kind of taught me how to deal with the loss of a parent when he decided to just walk out on mom and I. Still don’t know where he went, only that when he did leave, he did drop mom and I down a few social pegs. And made us lose the house. So why is mom leaving any different? I mean, sure, this time I don’t have any parents, but same thing happened. Knocked down a social peg. Now I’m that black, Spanish speaking, orphaned new kid. And I lost a house. My entire town._

_What am I supposed to write here anyways? Peter’s nice enough. More money than mom and i had before, so that’s nice. He actually has real food too. I’m not really hungry, not since everything happened, but it still tasted good. I think it’s lingering effects of the illness. How long until that damn thing leaves my system? I still sometimes wake up coughing and feeling like I’m drowning. I feel like I can’t breath, like I’m back in the stupid cot in my house next to mom with a fever._

_Can I talk about my mom for a second? She was the most beautiful woman I knew. She had such hopeful eyes, even after dad left. Her voice was actual music, and when I got sad or had troubles sleeping, she’d always sing to me. When she was happy she liked to sing too. That’s what she did when we were sick. She’d hold me close and sing when she still had the strength. It helped. A lot. She had the most beautiful hair, too. It was so soft and curly, and refused to lay flat. It wasn’t black like a lot of people in the village’s hair was. It was a really dark brown. You could tell because when the sun shined on it, you could see the way it turned into this almost shiny, metallic brown that had you captivated with it. And she was so kind. The only time she ever yelled at someone was when she was telling off kids when they used to pick on me. Mom was the best._

_I think I’m supposed to miss her but… It doesn’t feel like it’s real. I can’t seem to wrap my mind around her being gone too, even though my entire life has been uprooted. It makes me feel a bit like shit person that I’m not crying myself to sleep every night over her. It’s weird. That’s always what’s shown on the TVs. Whatever.._

_Well, that’s all. It’s… I don’t even feel any better after writing in this damn thing. What the hell is the point of this? This can’t seriously be used to help me. Help me what? Feel like shit about everything?_

Alex puts his pencil down in frustration and closes the journal up, throwing it off to the side. Damn doctors said it’d be good for him to write down his feelings, but that didn’t help a single bit. Not sure how it’s supposed to. Maybe if he were writing some sort of epic fantasy book that he could get lost in, but that’s not what the stupid journal is. It’s reality. Since when has reality ever made a person feel good? Hint: never.

He look up at the small clock hanging on the wall. It’s barely past noon, and Alex really doesn’t have much to do. Not in his opinion, anyways. He’s unpacked the little he has, a mixture of both his and his mother’s stuff - if he had kept some of his mom’s clothes that he could get to before others, nobody else needs to know it. That does nothing to help with Alex’s dilemma of not knowing what to do.

He doesn’t want to go out. New York is much larger than where he lived before, or even anywhere he’s ever visited. Too large, in his opinion. He could get lost so easily. Anybody might want to pick up the small black kid off the street. Right? That how it is in the movies and TV shows. Never go out alone in big cities or you could be taken or murdered. The world isn’t safe in big cities.

God, why was he even sent to America? Alex knows that where he was was a poor village; nobody had too much money, but at least it was small, at least he knew the people there. This is… Alex is scared. He won’t lie about that. He’s scared and doesn’t even need to leave the small apartment to be lost. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t even know who he’s living with.

There’s a small knock on the open door that has Alex looking up at Peter. “Hey, I’m going to go out to the grocery store quick to pick up something for dinner tonight. Wanna go with?”

Peter shares little resemblance with Alex. First of all, he’s white as a baby’s ass. His eyes are bright green, and his hair is a much lighter brown than Alex’s. He doesn’t even look like Alex’s mom. Not the same nose, eye shape, ears. But he’s apparently related.

Fuck, stop looking at Peter’s features.

Out. Alex doesn’t _want_ to leave. He’d be lying if he said he did. But he logically knows that he needs to get out sometime. He needs to get used to this place somehow. Needs to get used to the people, hear more than just Peter speaking to really get his speaking skills set it place, beyond just language. The people here are going to be different than back home.

Home.

Shit, head outta the past. This is the present, this is the now. Alex needs to remember this. He can’t continue looking back at things like that. It’s not… it can’t be good for him. He thinks about the past too long and he’ll be back on his mom, seeing her face in health and sickness. He’ll remember. He doesn’t want to.

He needs to get out.

“I’ll go. Just give me a second,” Alex says, giving Peter a small smile. Peter nods his head and leaves the room with heavy steps.

Alex looks down at his journal for a moment before flipping it open again and grabbing his pencil.

_It’s not exactly right here. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not home. I don’t want to think about home, but this place it just isn’t home. Or maybe that’s the problem. It is home. I’ll think of this place as home, and then I’ll be thinking of Peter as a guardian, a parent, and I’ll think about mom again. I don’t want to think about her ever again, but I’m afraid of forgetting. I don’t ever want to forget her face._

_I need to get out of here. Any chance I get. School will be good, I think. Structure. They say school brings structure, and that’s something I need. I don’t need to socialize, just work. I need to get out of here. Peter says he’s going out, I’ll go with every time. Now it’s going to the grocery store. Maybe next time we’ll go to the park or a movie. Whatever it is, I’m going. I need to see this place and the people. I need to forget. If i find new things to remember, I’ll forget._

 

Peggy is sitting on her bed reading when she hears the doorbell ring. As soon as she hears it, she drops the book carelessly and makes a beeline for the door, flying down the hallway and skipping steps in her haste to get down the stairs. Despite the rush, she still isn’t the first person to the door. Instead her father is already opening the door when the foyer is in sight. By the time she actually gets to it, Mark and his mom are already coming in through the door.

“Hi Mark! Hi Mrs. Cosway!” Peggy greets excitedly, a large, toothy (minus one tooth on the bottom) grin being shined at the two.

“Oh my goodness, look how much you’ve grown,” Mark’s mom says in that tone of voice _every_ mom uses with the friends of their children. At least Peggy thinks every mom does it. She’s never found one who doesn’t use that voice yet. It’s pretty crazy how they all have this secret way to communicate with each other so that they all know to use those sorts of voice. Also really weird. “And is that a tooth that you lost?”

Oh yeah, it is a lost tooth. Two days ago lost tooth where the new one isn’t even growing in yet. Peggy got it out on her own in an amazing manner, and then her dad gave her five dollars. The tooth fairy was so two years ago. And, still showing off that missing tooth, Peggy gives Mrs. Cosway a jerky nod of pride. 

“Hey Peggy,” Mark says smally from the side of his mom, immediately drawing Peggy’s attention to him. 

“Mark! Hi! Again, already said hi, but hi again! Does that mean I said it four times? Totally doesn’t matter because guess what, I got my coloured pencils! Or we can play in the backyard. We have these cool new water guns that are super amazing and awesome that we’ll have to try ou-”

Peggy is cut off as her dad let’s out an amused laugh. “Alright there sweetie, slow down there. You’re talking at about a hundred miles over the speed limit,” he teases, rolling his eyes.

Peggy sticks her tongue out at him and crosses her arms playfully. “Just excited is all,” she says. “Haven’t seen Mark in like, a month, and probably won’t see him again until school starts. We have A LOT to be doing before he leaves because we have to make up for not seeing each for so long!”

Mark nods his head solemnly, fully agreeing with Peggy. “You know, she’s right,” he says in all seriousness, walking over to Peggy. “You can’t just part from your practical soulmate for that long without feeling such… effects. We must make up for lost time!”

Effects? Peggy leans close to Mark, putting her mouth close to his ear. “What kinda effects you talking about? I don’t wanna die,” she whispers, eyes flicking to look at her father. “Plus, I don’t think dad will be happy if I die.”

“I dunno…” Mark says in a hushed tone, turning to look at Peggy. He looks thoughtful, biting his bottom lip as he stares off into space above her shoulder. “Uh… not death, just somethin’ bad. Maybe like… sneezing? Something bad.”

Well Peggy doesn’t want something bad. That’s… something bad is something bad! And who wants that? If Mark does, he’s a freak. “I don’t wanna be your soulmate if something bad happens,” she tells Mark, scrunching her nose in distaste. “What if I get struck by lightning?”

“I said you wouldn’t die, so you won’t get struck by lightning,” Mark assures quickly.

“Some people survive being struck by lightning, though! I don’t wanna get struck by lightning and live, or get struck by lightning and die. I don’t wanna get struck by lightning at all!”

“Who’s getting struck by lightning?” Mark’s mom asked, looking thoroughly confused. And oh, Peggy must have said that last part a little louder than she had intended to.

“Nobody!” Marks says quickly, turning to look at his mom with wide eyes. “Nobody is getting struck by lightning!”

“Except for people who get struck by lightning,” Peggy adds smartly, nodding her head and humming in confirmation. “People who get struck by lightning will get struck by lightning. Scientifically proven fact. You can’t just say nobody is getting struck by lightning, Mark.”

“Ugh, okay, yeah, people who get struck by lightning get struck by lightning. Whatever,” Mark agrees. He grabs Peggy’s hand and starts to walk to the living room, tugging lightly on her. “C’mon, let’s leave them to their grownup talk while we do actual cool things.”

Cool things are, by nature, cool, which has Peggy complying happily, sending one last look to her father and Mark’s mother. They both smile down at her, and she smiles back before turning to face where she is going and wiggling free of the grip Mark has on her so that she can take the lead. “Bet I can beat you up the stairs,” she taunts.

“You’re on.”

 

“Brooklyn: where hipsters flock to and I want to get the hellout of some day,” Hercules muses, eyes straight ahead as the group of three kids, Hercules between John and Lafayette, make their way down a sidewalk, keeping as much distance from the road as possible.

“Uni, man,” John says, raising his arm to rest it across Hercules’ shoulder. “That’s how you get outta here. Find a place away from Brooklyn to go to, and then you never have to look back here other than for family.”

Hercules shrugs the shoulder off, shoving his hands in his pocket uncomfortably. “Easy for you to say, man,” he grumbles, inching closer to Lafayette until their shoulders bump together. “You’re loaded, Laurens. You have money to go off to college. Unless, by some miracle, my mom wins the lottery, I don’t think any amount of work will be able to properly send my ass off to a college away from home. Or college at all.”

College. John and Hercules are going into eighth grade, and they’re already thinking about college and leaving? Man, Lafayette knows he wants to leave, but not enough to start thinking about college. Granted, he's only going into seventh, but he can’t imagine that single year really gives that much of a change of mentality. Does it?

“You do not need to be worrying about this,” Lafayette complains, quickening his pace until he’s ahead of Hercules and John, taking the lead. “We’re way too young for this, I don’t like it.”

“You’re the only one here who’s eleven,” John points out as he and Hercules catch up to him. “I, on the other hand, am thirteen, turning fourteen in two months and a half months. Plus, like Hercules said, I’m fuckin’ _loaded_. I’m practically forced to be thinking about this stuff. Don’t wanna disappoint dad. That never ends well.”

“God, what the hell was it that he blew up about when I was last over there?” Hercules asks.

Lafayette knows what he’s talking about, but wasn’t personally around to see it happen. Instead, he only knows what Hercules told him. Hercules had been at John’s unnecessarily large house last month, something that really isn’t too odd of an occurrence during the summer, or even during the school year considering how the two have been friends since elementary school. So, the two had been out playing in the back yard, doing whatever it is that John and Hercules do (Hercules had not given Lafayette the details on that one), when John’s father, seemingly crazed with anger, face red, eyes wide, jaw set, comes storming out screaming for John to come inside. John does as told, and Hercules can hear John getting ripped a new one from the middle of the large yard, just not well enough to hear what about. John comes out and says that he really is the most disappointing son a man could ask for. 

Well, that’s what Hercules said at least.

“Ah, nothing, like I said, man,” John says awkwardly, body tensing. “Just… disappointed him is all, nothing real bad. He just sometimes blows stuff out of proportion is all. He uh… he apologized after you left, Hercules, really. Nothing to even worry about.”

Lafayette doesn’t believe a word John is saying, everything about him screaming defensive, but neither he or Hercules push it. They know when they’re entering touchy ground with John. From what Lafayette can tell, John and his father aren’t really the closest to say the least. Or close at all. As much as he defends his father, Lafayette has never heard him say a loving thing about the man.

Lafayette understand this very well. See, John’s father, Henry Laurens, is a wealthy congressman of New York, coming from a long line of politicians and old money. And power, in both the magic and nonmagic communities. He’s also a very well known racist, homophobic twat that Lafayette is damn sure only gets re-elected due to his damn money. How the hell he has a son who isn’t pristinely white is beyond Lafayette.

“Hey, so where d’ya suppose we go first?” Hercules says in an efficient way of changing topics. He holds up a small thing of money in his hands, reminding John and Lafayette just why they’re even walking around out here in the first place, and not just inside.

“We should get the important things first,” Lafayette suggests, pulling out a small slip of paper from his pocket. “Like, notebooks and shit. Pencils, pens, that sort of stuff.”

“Folders if you’re into that sorta thing,” John adds.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? ‘Into that sorta thing’. Is there something I’m missing?” Hercules asks slowly, giving John an odd look while Lafayette looks on in confusion.

“What’s… into that sort of thing mean?” Lafayette asks. He’d never heard that before, which, given he’d only been in America for about a year total, only going back to France on a few small trips to visit his mother and grandfather, doesn’t surprise him too much. He hears things like that everyday, things he doesn’t understand away from a literal sense, and unless John is talking about someone being in a folder, which Lafayette is pretty sure he isn’t, then the kid is at a total loss for what is going on.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Hercules says at the same time as John opens his mouth, explaining just what “being into that sort of thing” is about. Lafayette, for his part, wishes he didn’t ask.

“So, anyways, short stacks over there is probably right,” John pipes up, acting like he didn’t just introduce new parts of sexuality to an eleven year old.

“Hey, don’t call me short!” Lafayette snaps, sending a glare to John. It’s not his fault he isn’t as tall as John. He’s only eleven for Christ’s sake! John’s thirteen and has an unfair, two year advantage on him. 

“I don’t know Laf, you are a bit of a shrimp,” Hercules teases, wrapping an arm around Lafayette’s waist and pulling him close and tight to his side. “Gotta get bigger if you’re gonna face off with Thomas Jefferson one day.”

Jefferson? What was wrong with Jefferson? “Hey, why do I have to be the one to do that?” Lafayette asks, scrunching his nose. Thomas Jefferson, while being a little snotty, isn’t that bad of a person. Not that Lafayette has seen so far at least.

“Um, because you’re the one who speaks fluent French and can kick his ass, that’s why. Someone needs to knock that prick down a few pegs, and there’s no better way than to let some punk kid two grades below him do it,” John tells him. Lafayette isn’t even close to ready to even want to kick Thomas’ ass, but he isn’t about to tell either John or Hercules that.

The trio eventually reaches an intersection busy enough that they can’t just cross, which is their signal that they’ve made it to an area with more than just houses. 

“You sure we can get all the shit we need here, Herc?” John asks, eyeing the small shops littering the area. Some look well kept, others a little rundown, but they all had people of all ages, kids, their parents, teenagers, adults, elderly people, hanging around outside them.

“Yeah, dude, there’s a dollar store down on the other curb that’ll have all your basic stuff, promise,” Hercules assures, leading taking the lead once it’s safe to cross. “This is where I go all the time to get supplies, trust me.”

Lafayette and John both follow Hercules a little warily. Both of the boys come from wealthy backgrounds, granted their still very different, and have had no cause to step into a dollar store. Or really any shop like what’s around here. Lafayette will every now and then go into gas stations and small mom and pop shops hidden between the large companies of downtown New York, but he’s never been here. George isn’t too keen of the idea of Lafayette wandering too far, which, to be fair, he’s eleven, it’s reasonable. It just leaves him with having no clue about where anything is here.

Just like Hercules said, there was a larger shop just off a curb that ended up being a Dollar Tree. The three of them walked through the doors, and the first thing Lafayette really takes in is the sweet, sweet feel of air conditioning. He missed that while they were outside in the middle of August.

Lafayette feels a little guilty seeing the lower prices, feels the big bundle of cash sit heavy in his pocket. That just means he’s totally going to get Hercules’ mom to take them shopping for clothes somewhere. He may be eleven, the younger of them all,but he does have the best sense of clothes and fashion, he thinks. Well, at least better than John, who one time worse long sleeves with shorts. Bright red long sleeve shirt with basketball shorts. How he left the house like that without being stopped, Lafayette doesn’t know.


	3. Chapter 2

Alex’s nerves are on end. The very trip to school is enough to have him worrying, sure he’s going to get lost in the part of going from lower Manhattan to freaking Brooklyn, and then from Brooklyn to wherever the hell the school is supposed to be. One of these days, it’ll happen. Maybe not this first day, but it will happen. Or he’ll be taken. 

See, there was a single school back home. One school for both magic and nonmagic students, ages five through eighteen, and the trip to it wasn’t considered a trip, but a walk. No ferry rides involved.

And no walking alone in larger than life cities.

Alexander Hamilton may be a brash idiot who goes headfirst into things that shouldn’t be gone headfirst into, but such boldness came with the comfort that he could do it. He had the potential to do it. And right now? Alex doesn’t know if he can do this. Not now. Not here.

“Fuck this new school and new country,” he mumbles, head down as he quickly walks down the streets of fucking Brooklyn. Just to get to school. Brooklyn! Absolute bullshit. “I woulda been better off staying in Puerto Rico, I swear to god.” And he isn’t necessarily upset about the change, more worried and anxious. The ‘anger’ is more of a defensive technique than anything.

Alex sets his jaw and looks up with wide eyes to watch where he’s going, if only just for the moment. He’s in a more residential area, now, yet the buildings around him are still taller than anything from home. Everything here is bigger. He sees groups of children walking together, one way or another, but mostly together. Very few walk like Alex, alone, heads down or up, many with headphones on. A luxury Alex doesn’t have.

Alex is rattled out of his thoughts as something hard hits his side, knocking him to the side. He barely keeps from falling to the ground, and stares in rage as a kid a little older than him jogs past. “Watch where the hell you’re going!” the kid yells at him with some weird accent that Alex hasn’t has to the pleasure of hearing yet, turning a quick eye to look at him.

Alex can’t tell if he’s tall, or if he just has long legs that make him look taller than he really is. His hair is short, but curly. And he’s wearing dark blue jeans and a purple sweatshirt. It should look ridiculous, but it doesn’t. He manages to pull it off somehow. Too bad he’s a total dick.

“Que te den por culo! Bicho!” Aex shouts after him, gracefully giving the guy his middle finger.

Purple guy doesn’t respond, just continues on his merry way. “What a total dick,” Alex mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. And he was cute, but Alex doesn’t need to start thinking about _that_ right now. He’d very much rather be thinking about his new school and the new students rather than have another crisis on sexuality. He’s twelve and doesn’t need this right now thank you very much.

But what’s the chance the Purple Dick is a student? Probably slim to none. The population of this damn place is so large. The chances that he’s going to the same place Alex is has to be small. Guy’s probably heading for some odd high school that requires walking this way, like all the other kids who are making turns where Alex is going straight.

Which is good. Will be good.

“Hey, don’t mind that dick,” says a voice behind Alex, causing him to whip around in shock. Coming to a halt behind him is a kid, not much older than Alex is. Dark eyes. Curly hair just past his shoulders, held back weakly in a ponytail.

“Who’re you?” Alex asks, giving the guy what has to be an odd look. Probably not a polite one either, but he’s a bit too miffed to be giving proper, respectful looks to strangers. 

Instead of responding right away, the guy sticks his hand out. Alex cautiously puts his hand in it, and Jesus, this kid (Alex has no room to be calling him a kid considering he’s older than he is) has a strong grip. “Laurens. John Laurens.”

At least Alex has a name on this one. “Alexander Hamilton,” he responds, slowly drawing his hand back to his side. “So… you know that guy?” he asks, pointing in the general direction that Purple Dick went. 

“I know who he is, yeah,” John says, crinkling his nose in distaste. “Thomas Jefferson. Not worth your time, or your anger, trust me. Kid’s richer than hell, not that I have any room to be talking, and has powerful parents. Leads him to thinking he owns the place half the time. Never seen your face around here. Hell, don’t even know where you’re heading, sorry. What school?”

Well John sure isn’t shy on his words. Alex can respect that. “Uh, Liberty High. You?”

“Ahah! Same here, Alexander!” John exclaims with a wide grin.

Ah shit. “Does that mean Thomas goes there too?”

“Unfortunately, but you get used to it pretty quickly,” John tells him, starting to walk forward again. Alex quickly goes to keep up with him, eager to finally not be walking alone. “I know you’re not supposed to make assumptions and all, but I’m guessing you’re new here?”

Alex shrugs while nodding his head. “Uh, yeah,” he says awkwardly, not really knowing is he’s supposed to say anything else beyond that. 

“Hm, nice. What grade you goin’ into?”

“Oh, seventh,” Alex answers quickly, because maybe, just maybe. John could be in his grade too. Hopeful thinking, probably, considering John looks older than Alex is, but maybe he just… missed the cut or something. Maybe he’s older but also the same grade. “You?”

“Ah shit, eighth,” John says with a small pout. “That’s sad. You got a mouth on ya, it woulda be fun to have you in some classes.”

Damn it. Also… “Wait, what do you mean that I have a mouth on me?” Alex asks in confusion.

“Dude, you totally cussed out Jefferson back there,” John laughs, giving Alex a smack on his back. “Probably for your own good that you did that in Spanish, though. I wouldn’t put it against that guy to try and beat the shit outta you just because you’re smaller and an easy target. If not him, he woulda had someone else after you.”

John is the first person, besides Peter of course, to have understood Alex’s Spanish. It shouldn’t surprise him, really, America is supposed to be the land of basically everybody, so there’s bound to be people who understand Spanish, but the way the social workers had been playing it out… really had it going into his head that it would be exclusively English. Not even French or anything.

“Dude seems like an ass,” Alex says, giving John an awkward smile. “He deserved it.”

“That, my Alex, he did. Hey, hope you don’t mind me walking with you the rest of the way. School’s only about two blocks away, so no use splitting up now.”

Alex sees nothing wrong with travelling together. Strength in numbers and all. “Yeah, no problem,: he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Aye, nice.”

The two walk the rest of the way in silence, Alex watching the people around him with slightly wide, curious eyes. It’s different than when Peter had run through it with him two times. Different people at this time of the day, different feel. Different sky. Everything looks and feels different. Nothing bad, but different nonetheless. Something he can easily see himself almost enjoying in time. This could be a lot worse.

John is about to part ways with Alex outside the school, which isn’t the largest Alex has seen, but is still larger than the one back home, and better kept, when he turns around, pointing a finger at Alex. “Hey, keep your nose clean for like, the first week, yeah? No need to put too many bad impressions on teachers too early on, but if ya gotta go making trouble, you gotta go making trouble. The teachers here are pretty damn lax, just don’t go punching people and cussing people out. Also, the principal, Washington, real nice dude. A bit intimidating, but real nice promise. And if you see a short little French kid, Lafayette, befriend him. He’s a great kid. A little young, but good kid. Real nice. Worth your time.” And with that, he disappears, leaving Alex in his wake to try and process all that had been thrown at him.

 

Lafayette, of all things, is huffy. Huffy, like when the big bad wolf in the Three Little Pigs was huffing before puffing and blowing houses down. Why? Because school. What better reason to be huffy than school? There is none. He would know.

The night before the dreaded first day was spent at Hercules’ house, mostly because Hercules lives closer to the school than Lafayette does. Lafayette told George he didn’t want to be late on his first day, to which George told him he wouldn’t be considering he’s the principal of the school, but he still complied and let Lafayette stay the night at Hercules’. God bless America.

The biggest problem with staying the night at Hercules’ is that Lafayette feels ten times guiltier not being able to finish his breakfast here. With George, it’s a normal thing. It’s a normal struggle for George to get Lafayette to actually eat, and more than just a few bites when it does happen. Hercules’ mom, on the other hand, isn’t used to it. Lafayette doesn’t want to insult her by not finishing the food, especially since it tastes great, but Lafayette can’t finish it. He’s not hungry. No appetite, which, no surprise; Lafayette can’t remember the last time he’s actually been hungry. Probably some time before he was put on whatever medication he was put on. Like hell if he knows, but he’s about ninety percent sure that’s when it started.

Fucking drugs.

And there’s the added bonus that he’s completely out of his mind in tiredness, nerves alone keeping him up late into the night. Lafayette can’t think straight in the first place from pure lack of sleep, but now he’s also busy dealing with not being able to eat more than three bites of the pancake in front of him, and he can feel the eyes on him. Can feel Hercules watching him in confusion, and Hercules’ mom looking on in worry (she noticed his lack of eating the night before when eating dinner).

“Hey, Laf, ya gotta hurry up,” Hercules whispers quietly over to him, staring down at Lafayette’s plate. “We’re leavin’ in ten minutes.”

Fuck. Ten minutes. It should be more than enough time, but Lafayette feels like he’ll be sick if he eats another bite. Shit, no wonder he’s such a scrawny little kid. “You want the rest?” Lafayette asks, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth to chew on it. He hates this.

“I guess, but shouldn’t you eat more?” Even as Hercules asks this, he’s pulling the plate in front of himself and grabbing Lafayette’s fork. “You barely ate anything. You needa eat in the morning.”

Which Lafayette knows. He knows this. He’s been told multiple times that he needs to eat. Hercules told him multiple times last year to eat more at lunch, after they had meeten. “I’m just not hungry. I’ll be sure to eat more at lunch today,” he assures Hercules, giving him an awkward smile. And he can feel Hercules’ mom’s eyes on him, and it causes him to shrink in on himself a little, staring dutifully at the counter.

He just wants to leave. Staying the night was a mistake. But it was fun during the night. And he also is spared walking into the school next to the damn principal of the school. Instead, he can walk his ass into the school side by side with one of his best friends. Hercules Mulligan, resident kid with a kickass name.

“Nobody is going to be able to tell you turned twelve two days ago, you know,” Hercules says, getting up from where he was sitting at the counter to put the plate in the sink. “You don’t eat, and then you don’t grow, and you continue to look like you’re like… ten.”

“Hercules!” Hercules’ mom says sharply, sending her son a sharp look, eyebrow raised. “Don’t you be mean to Lafayette while he’s staying over here as a guest.”

“No, it’s okay!” Lafayette interjects quickly, awkwardly shuffling closer to Hercules. “He’s right on me needing to eat at least.” He turns around to look at Hercules and gives him a playful punch on his arm. “You’re just jealous that you’re the same age as me still. You’re scared you look like I do. Small and scrawny,” he teases.

“Yo, no way man! No way could I look at you,” Hercules laughs.

“Alright you two,” Hercules’ mom interjects, right as Lafayette opens his mouth to respond. “You two need to be heading out now. No need to be late for school”

“Yes mom,” Hercules sighs, shoulders drooping at the reminder of what today is. He and Lafayette make their ways to the door, slowly, trying to draw out the process as long as possible.

“And don’t forget your backpacks!”

As if Lafayette could get away with that. George would actually kill him, he thinks.

Hercules and Lafayette both grabs their bags from beside the door before Lafayette quicklys gets ahead to open the door, holding it for Hercules as he walks by.

“Have a good day, boys,” Hercules’ mom calls after them. “And don’t get into any trouble!”

That Lafayette can’t really promise. So, yeah, maybe they slightly abused the fact that George Washington, principal of the damn school, was his guardian to get a few strings pulled. He doesn’t intentionally go looking for trouble, not too interesting in fighting people, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t found himself in a few verbal disputes with students for a variety of reasons. And each time, he somehow ends up on top.

“Hey, how come you and Laurens are in the same grade, and you’re not in the same grade as me?” Lafayette asks when they get outside. “You’re twelve right now. Twelve! Like me! Yet you are going into eighth grade. But here I stay in grade seven.

“I’m not the same age as you,” Hercules says, rolling his eyes. “I turn thirteen in six days, don’t forget. That’s why I get to be in eighth grade.”

“It’s not fair,” Lafayette whines, bumping into Hercules’ side. “You leave me alone. My best friend is in the grade above me. And John is there too.”

“You act like you aren’t friends with half the kids in your grade, Laf.” Lafayette wouldn’t say he’s _friends_ with half of them. Simply… acquaintances. Like, he’s closer to Thomas Jefferson than he is with most of the kids in his grade. Which, if John found out, he’s probably never hear the end of it, so he doesn’t bring that particular fact up.

“It still gets lonely not really having you guys in my classes,” Lafayette says instead.

“Stop being such a big baby,” Hercules huffs, rolling his eyes. “Just look for a new friend or something if you have to. Act like John. Try and be all cool, flaunt the money just a little too much, and have people falling at your feet. It’s how he caught my eye, I won’t lie. But then again, what really caught my eye was the fact that I could see through the entire goddamn act.”

“John Laurens acts like he would kill a man, but I don’t think he has ever gone beyond a few punches,” Lafayette agrees silently. He doesn’t want to put on a fake face. Not like John partially does. He doesn’t want to act like a cocky piece of shit lest it work the wrong way, and he end up being the dick of his grade.

“That he does, Lafayette.”

Lafayette shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants as a small breeze comes up from behind the two boys walking. The eighth of September. September is an evil month. The month the cold starts to set in.

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” Lafayette muses, though whether he had originally intended to say it out loud or not, he doesn’t really know.

Hercules for his part, rests his arm across Lafayette’s shoulder, and Lafayette leans into the touch. He doesn’t want to deal with the school year alone. He’s not sure if he really has any other choice than finding someone willing to be his friend, and to maybe turn their trio into a group of four.


End file.
